On only two occasions in my life I got to be the star. The first was my birth when all eyes were on me. The other we are celebrating here today. I don’t count my wedding day, the focus was entirely on the bride.

Not much time in the sun for a man.

Yes, go on, talk catchup gossip amongst yourselves. Only, turn off that morose music they play here. You could try blowing on a few trumpets for me. Crank up a grand organ. Flatter me with the fanfare to a common man.

Remember, this day is about me, the brick in the wall, a sometime grain of sand.

For pity’s sake, do not put me into the ground. A perpetual punishment for what I think was a good life. Can you imagine it, interned deep into the ground where it is always icy cold and damp. The unbearable smell will soon set in. There is no light. No sound to hear. No food to taste. Alone and rotting in absolute silence. Who would want to die when this was to be your fate.

They could burn me. That would at least be a quick end. Maybe my ashes could be put somewhere nice. I can still push up the flowers, still be of some use to the world I left.

Where is my future

No more the warming sun on my cheeks

No more the smell of dinner waiting

No more the sight and touch of your naked flesh

No more the wind in my face

No more the discourse of the day

No more the sounds of nature

No more the passion, drama, joy in an Opera

No more the excitable moments in your children’s lives

No more the run, the dance

No more the smiles on your face

All this I have left behind.

But here we are, stuffed up in a box, while all of you are here in my audience. Either because it is a good day off work, or a relative who may or may not really feel the fact that I won’t be around to dinner on any night soon.

Stop crying about your loss. You still have life in your bones.

I will be pushed off the stage at the end of this, then you will go on. To the will.

© Greg Jacques                                                                                 26^th August 2024